Hotel California
by the homo club
Summary: Dean and Sam find a stumping case, and Sherlock Holmes happens to be on the killers' tail. Light Destiel and Johnlock. Slight Parent!lock. Please R&R! (TW: slight spooks and gory stuffs u u.)


**A/N: this one was based off of a story i had on my AO3 account, but since it was just Sherlock/Johnlock, I felt like it would be unreasonable to mix Supernatural in. So here's the other story; and no, you don't have to read my other fanfic before reading this one.**

* * *

Sherlock sighed heavily as he, John and Rosemary, their 8 year old companion, left the airport. They had to go over to America to solve a case, one that started in England, but then continued over in California, USA.

And so, they were forced to go and to solve the case. Not that Sherlock minded; he didn't know who the killer was and it bothered him to no end. "Sherlock," Rosemary, or Rose as they called her, said, "What hotel shall we be staying in?"

She was herself, a genius. Her older brother was a drunk and, in a drunken haze, dropped her off at an orphanage and never looked back. She was shamed and bullied for her advanced mind, and Sherlock was drawn together with her when her older brother was murdered. Rose then stayed at Sherlock and John's flat at 221B Baker street for a month or so before they adopted her, not wanting some idiot to come along and dull her sharp mind.

She sometimes helped with cases, though she was not allowed by John (and the law) to see the bodies. She hated being left out of inspecting the bodies, but she did get detailed descriptions from Sherlock himself, which was enough for the time being.

"The Country Inn," Sherlock answered, still looking forward. "What a dull name."

* * *

Dean and Sam unloaded their luggage from the Impala and into the hotel. It was a cheap hotel, though it was nicer then the old, run-down motels that they normally stayed in. It was a baby step up, as Dean had put it.

"Ugh, I don't want to do any more research," Dean complained. "I'd rather go out to a crime scene." He plopped down on the uncomfortable bed and looked over at his younger, lanky brother who was setting up his laptop on the nearest table.

"Well, you're in luck. A 8 year old girl named Sally Jones was murdered this morning." Sam said, quickly closing his laptop and swinging over to his brother. "Wanna go check it out?"

"You bet your ass I do, Sammy." Dean said as he swooped up, heading towards the suit case that held his FBI suit. "Let's get this show on the road."

**Meanwhile, at the crime scene. . .**

Of course. Sherlock sighed for the 100th time that day. Lestrade had to send someone over to keep him in check, and it _had _to be Sally Donovan and Anderson.

Sherlock's hatred for Anderson had grown out of him being a mere idiot, and more into his insults. Not the ones directed to Sherlock, No, the ones directed to Rose. It had started when Anderson called Rose a 'Mini-Freak', which was when Sherlock proceeded to reveal all of Anderson's life secrets, which, for the record, had Rose laughing and giggling for the most of the day.

Speaking of the genius in training, Rose was sat outside of the crime scene, doodling on a blank sheet of paper. Though they looked like a child's scribbles, they were really information that she gathered.

The last person to have been murdered was one of her own; and eight year old girl. 'A shame,' Rosemary thought, 'Who knows what she could have done to deserve such treatment.'

She shrugged and looked around her. She sat in the hallway in front of the room where Sally Jones was killed, curious to see the body. Instead of breaking John's number one rule (which was she can see no bodies until she's at least 16), She got up and decided to hold her own investigation.

She walked around the small house, looking for forced entry points. She found nothing except some sulfur on the window seal, which she promptly put in a zip-up bag and stuffed in her pocket. "Heya, kid," A deep, American voice sounded from behind her. "What're you doing, poking around a crime scene?"

She turned to see two men, obviously (to her) brothers, in suits standing behind her. She slipped on her acting face and smiled a childish grin. "Oh, my companions are seeing to the body," She said, still smiling. "so I'm looking for forced entry points." She finished, figuring her winning smile would be enough to subdue the men into shrugging her off.

". . .Yeah, okay. Did you find anything?" Sam asked, bending down to her level. "Perhaps," Rose said, her sweet smile turning into a smirk.

"Well, what is it? You won't get in trouble." Sam reassured, smiling at her. She knew the smile was fake, obvious, though she was stumped by the male, though she didn't know why. Not knowing made her very upset.

"Sulfur," She said plainly, tossing the bag from her hand. "Probably pointless."

Sherlock appeared from behind the two men, smirking softly down at Rosemary. "Good girl. Hardly pointless," Sherlock said, plucking the sulfur from Dean's hand. "It most likely will point us to our killer."

Sherlock looked over Dean with a cold face, though it soon held a slight grin. He looked down at Rosemary to see if she had gotten where he had, and he was very pleased to hear the analysis slip through her pinkish lips:

"Gay."

Dean looked at her, surprised at her words. He heard a gravelly chuckle sound from behind him, and light, bubbly giggles followed soon after.

"Wha-?"

"Unimportant."


End file.
